


January 2019 BVDN: Steampunk

by musicofthespheres



Series: Bulma Vegeta Drabble Night [5]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, BVDN, F/M, January 2019 BVDN, Steampunk, Steampunk AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 10:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/pseuds/musicofthespheres
Summary: A short narrative written over the course of 10 prompts.





	January 2019 BVDN: Steampunk

**Author's Note:**

> For The Prince and The Heiress' monthly BVDN challenge. Each prompt was written in 30 minutes or less.

1: Industrial

Hard-pressed to find an honest worker in this day and age, Bulma resorted to putting an ad in the window: “Help Wanted, apply within.”

Being of high birth, she’d never had to be among this amount of _utter riff-raff_ in her life. Oh well. She supposed this was her penance for striking out on her own and claiming one of her father’s many factories for herself. All the other young ladies her age were already wed and starting families of their own. She was the only young lady she knew who had shown any interest in the industrial side of life.

2: Brass

The other gentry wives had husbands whose hands had never seen a day’s work in their entire lives. They had servants to do it all, from getting them dressed in the morning to putting them to bed at night.

Sure, Bulma had servants too, but they were _her hands_ working with the brass fittings. _Her_ hands that invented more efficient ways for her factory to run. And no one would dare say a word because her father was a duke.

No one, that is, except the skeptic of a man sitting across from her, whose face was smudged and surely mirrored her own. “Aren’t you supposed to be a Lady?” he asked gruffly, arms crossed.

3: Locomotive

“Aren’t you supposed to be applying for a job?” she retorted. “I’m the owner of this factory, and it’s not looking good for your prospects.”

“Maybe not, but this is,” he replied, slapping down a rolled up paper onto her desk. “I know who you are, Ms. Briefs, and I know what you can do.” He took off the newsboy cap that had been hiding the tell-tale hair. 

Bulma immediately stood and dropped into a curtsy. “Your highness,” she said, dipping low and averting her gaze. “My apologies. Please excuse my prior tone.” 

“Only if you’ll help me build this.” He spread out the page and her eyes scanned over it, trying to make sense of the blueprints. It looked like no machine she had ever seen; it was definitely no locomotive. 

“What is it?”

4: Airship

“Ostensibly, plans for an airship,” Vegeta said.

Bulma squinted down at the unrecognizable script. “Foreign plans,” she clarified. “I can’t read this.” 

“I know. I want you to draft up something equivalent. I can promise you as much funding as you’ll need--straight from the monarchy’s coffers.” 

Bulma waved her hand as she continued poring over the blueprints. “Money’s no issue. Can I take this and work on it overnight?” 

Vegeta’s wide, wolfish grin told her yes. “Only if you don’t mind me staying with you.” 

“Your highness, that is hardly proper,” Bulma had the guts to object. “I understand the need for secrecy, but surely there is someone who can chaperon?” 

“Nobody in the royal family can know of these plans. You are the only other person besides my spies who have even learned of its existence.”

5: Goggles

Vegeta watched from the corner as Bulma set to work.

Whoever designed this thing clearly had an intellect on par with her own genius; what she wouldn’t give to be able to meet the designer. She had a feeling they could create many beautiful things together. 

But that wasn’t meant to be. Instead, here she was, burning the midnight oil as her goggles slipped down over her brow, trying to work out all the mechanisms somehow keeping this thing afloat. 

She added improvements, of course. And sometimes, when he was feeling restless, the prince would come and watch over her shoulder, so close she could feel his warmth pressed against her.

6: Victorian

Bulma supposed that there wasn’t anything wrong with sharing space with a man of Vegeta’s stature. Victorian values were more progressive than ever--they allowed for her to own this factory, after all--and any gossip would die on the tongue once they saw what Bulma was capable of.

As for Vegeta, he hardly spoke two words that whole night, but she could feel his intense gaze boring into her back every time she turned away from him. Finally, as the witching hour approached, she turned to him triumphantly. “Here!” she announced, thrusting her completed plans into his arms. 

He looked them over, his eyebrows rising almost to his impossibly high hairline. “You’re sure this will fly?” 

“Only one way to find out, right?” Bulma grinned.

7: Gears

The process of compartmentalizing her entire workforce was no easy task. But with Vegeta in disguise working among her men, Bulma felt confident that not only would the integrity of their shared secret be maintained, but production would be completed well ahead of schedule, too.

As gruff as he was, Vegeta had some form of mystical inspiring effect on the workers. Like well-oiled gears, they worked hard in shifts, day and night, laboring to complete the nigh-impossible task she’d asked of them. 

And as the pre-fabricated pieces flew off the assembly lines, each with Bulma’s meticulous approval, she grew more and more hopeful. 

“I believe this is cause for celebration,” the prince told her one evening as they sat together at her desk, reviewing the final stages of their project. “Please expect a formal invitation for you and yours to my home tomorrow evening.” 

“I’d be delighted,” Bulma said, even though her gut told her it was a bad idea.

8: Anachronism

Curtsying alongside her mother in the palace made memories of the first time she’d been presented to the queen’s court come flooding back. Now, Bulma felt like an anachronism, out of place and in the spotlight for entirely different reasons.

Vegeta regarded her coolly, showing no indication of familiarity. 

Once the Briefs family had presented themselves to him, he stood and bowed to Duke Briefs. Then his butler led them into the dining room, where a magnificent spread lay before them. Bulma caught sight of Vegeta’s white-gloved hands, no doubt an effort to conceal the callouses he’d earned for himself over the past several weeks. 

“We are honored by your invitation,” Bulma’s father said once again. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” 

Vegeta eyed Bulma across the table before sweeping his gaze back to her parents. “Far be it from me to allow my nobles to think I don’t care about them,” he said, his grin growing deeper and Bulma’s belly growing more unsettled.

9\. Wild, Wild West

“I would like to request a private audience with Ms. Briefs,” Vegeta said after they’d all eaten their fill. “If that is acceptable to you both.”

Her parents looked at each other, eyes wide. “Yes, your highness, of course,” her father says, taking care not to let his beaming pride shine through his expression. 

Bulma swallows heavily. Her mother pats her on the shoulder on their way into the sitting room, and Vegeta leads the young Lady into the card room. 

“Vegeta, what are you doing?” she whispers harshly as the door closes. 

The prince puts his fingers to his lips. “I want you to fly to America with me,” he says. “As my wife.” 

“Where is this _coming_ from?” 

“There would be no other way for them to allow you on board the ship, Bulma, you know that.”

“So, what, it’s a marriage of convenience for you? I’m not going to be some wild west housewife while you get off on gallivanting all over the colonies, _your highness!_ ”

10: Revolver

“It’s not just _convenience,_ Bulma!” Vegeta exclaimed, exasperated. “I want you to be my engineer. I _need_ -”

“What you need, your highness, is a reality check,” Bulma grit out through clenched teeth. Tears sprang to her eyes. How did he not know how she _felt_ about him? He might as well have shot her through the heart with a revolver. 

“Bulma, please,” Vegeta sighed, lowering himself to his knees as he implored her. She knew it was a blow to his ego. “I don’t know how else to say it, but I need you by my side for the rest of my life.” 

She stared down at him as the tears spilled over, streaking her face and sliding down her perfect, rosy cheeks. “Do you mean it?” she whispered. 

“Yes.”

Bulma crouched down to be at eye level with him. “Do you truly, Vegeta?” 

He nodded. “Fly away with me.” 

Bulma thought of everything she’d be leaving behind. Everything she’d worked for in exchange for a life of adventure. It was everything she’d always wanted. So, armed with the assurance of his affection and the wildness in her heart, she brought him to his feet and looked into his eyes. 

“When do we leave?”


End file.
